


Coincidence

by fanfictionandcats



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-14 06:55:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanfictionandcats/pseuds/fanfictionandcats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa Stark relocates, Margaery Tyrell offers for her to stay at Highgarden until she gets back on her feet. It just so happens, Margaery's older brother Willas is also staying at Highgarden. </p>
<p>Modern AU - Sansa's 19, Willas is 24, the Houses are rich business families.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arrivals and Introductions

****Chapter 1: Arrivals and Introductions** **

* * *

Loras Tyrell leaned against the side of a shiny black Land Rover, aviator sunglasses on his face and a permanent smirk about his lips. He stared up blankly at the clear sky above him, considering how much longer he would wait before just giving up.

Finally, Sansa Stark walked out of the revolving doors of the domestic arrivals section of the airport. Her hair was twisted up in a messy bun, and she was wearing a thick gray sweatshirt that looked like it had seen better days, with jeans and sneakers.

She strode towards him, her eyes widening almost imperceptibly when she registered his identity.

"Loras."

She hadn’t expected to see him there. But, then again, she hadn’t known what she was expecting at all. In all her hurry to get away, she’d jumped at Margaery’s abstract invitation to come stay at Highgarden to start college, until she’d rented an apartment close enough to campus to live in.

She’d been seriously doubting on the plane that she had even been serious, but Sansa figured that it was her best option. She couldn’t have stayed where she was.

"Sansa." He greeted her, straightening up and opening the trunk of the car. "Been a while."

She went around the back of the car, handing Loras her small monogrammed suitcase to put in the back. She’d left a lot behind.

“This it?” He asked, his tone edging on disdain. She nodded, and he shut the trunk door, moving around to the driver’s seat and getting in.

She got into the passenger’s seat, weakly pulling the door closed behind her. He put the car in drive, and moved out of the airport parking lot and out onto the highway.

Sansa privately remembered how in love with him she was just four months ago. Part of her still was, just a little bit, just because he was so pretty. He had the sort of long, flowing locks that only movie stars could pull off, and his eyes seemed to be of liquid gold. He had a delicate way about his face, contrasting his sharp, angular jawline and cheekbones.

"Margaery is in Santorini.” He supplied, looking at her briefly out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh.”

“Should be back soon.”

“It must be beautiful this time of year.” She offered lamely.

He smiled thinly, and turned his eyes back to the road. Ahead of them, a black car pumping loud rap music swerved ahead of them, making Loras grit his teeth and mutter, "asshole." His smooth hands tightened around the wheel.

Sansa stared down at her own hands, unsure of what to say next. She knew Loras wasn't too fond of her,  
the last time they'd spoken, he'd looked like he'd wanted to bite her head off. She was vaguely sure the conversation between the two of them had been fine, until she’d brought up Renly Baratheon and his death. After that, the interaction between them had just turned sour. Judging by his chilly attitude toward her presently, she got the sense that he was not looking forward to her becoming even a temporary fixture in his life.

"Loras?"

"Hmmm?"

"Thank you." She said. "For doing this."

"Sure. You're welcome."

They drove for almost ten more minutes in half-awkward silence before Loras abruptly pulled off the road onto a private exit, the sign reading, Highgarden: 4 miles.

As the highway disappeared behind them, the car drove down a gorgeous paved road, decorated on both sides by tall, strong trees, as if driving through a forest.

Sansa peered out the window, eyes caught by two deerlike-figures chasing each other far away. She also thought she saw someone riding a horse in the distance, somewhere in between the trees.

Loras stopped in front of a gold-wire gate blocking the road, rolling down the window and leaning out to press a button on the black voice-box next to the gate.

“Hey Dean.” He said after a tone.

“Good afternoon Mister Loras.” A voice replied, followed by the gate opening for them and Loras started up the car again.

The scene then transitioned into a circle driveway in front of an imposing, limestone castle. It stood impressively against the hilly landscape, taking up a considerable amount of ground. The outer side of the driveway was lined thickly with rose bushes, making the air outside smell flowery and fresh. Behind the castle, she could just pick out a few other, smaller houses, and the higher walls of a structure behind them.

She stepped out of the car, blinking twice and pushing her sunglasses up off her face and onto the top of her head. Loras slid out of the car and moved around to the back, taking her suitcase out of the car and handing it to her nonchalantly. She took it from him gratefully, and followed as he moved up the steps leading to the front doors. The double doors themselves were expensive wood, both having rose sigils ornately carved into them. Loras opened the doors and strode into the entrance hallway. She, however, entered the castle cautiously, conscious of how her footsteps echoed around the foyer.

The interior of the castle was airy, built with high ceilings and lots of windows for natural light. On the table by the doors, there was a large vase filled to the brim with expensive-looking roses. The Tyrells, by nature, had always been said to have an appreciation for fine things, and the proof of this surrounded her.

“There’s roses everywhere here.” Loras said, watching her admire the flowers.

“They’re beautiful.”

“My grandmother’s pride and joy. My mother and older brother sometimes get roped into helping tend to them too.” He said.

Her fingertips ghosted over the rose petals briefly, before Loras took her upstairs to the room she’d be staying in.

The room itself was like the rest of the house - built to take advantage of breeze. Directly adjacent from the bed was a bay window, sunlight streaming in and warming the matching pillows. The bed itself was large, with a simple mahogany headboard. It was light and it instantly made her feel a little more relaxed about being here.

Loras coughed.

“I’m heading out for a bit, but you can just stay here and unpack. Dinner tonight is at eight.”

The door closed, and he disappeared.

Sansa let out a breath that she’d been holding in since she’d gotten off the airplane. This whole idea had been borderline insane, but she had nowhere else to turn. It wasn’t safe for her to stay in the city anymore.

She perched on the side of the bed, taking in her surroundings.

_Well, I might as well unpack._

* * *

 

Willas trudged up the front stairs, walking slowly and leaning on his cane.

There was the side elevator, but he’d gotten so used to scaling stairs in his apartment building (which had an elevator that enjoyed lovely sporadic breakdowns often) that he’d just started up on his own. He could manage, even on these slightly-wider marble stairs.

The house was quiet, he knew his parents would be in the city around now, and his grandmother probably in the gardens. It was unusual to find the house this still, though, and it caught him off-guard.

When he finally reached his old room on the second floor, he found the door shut and quiet shuffling from inside.

He opened the door slowly, and found an unknown girl with red hair hunched over a pink suitcase. Her back was fully to him, and she seemed to have not heard him open the door.

"Uh... Hello?"

The girl turned around, and his breath caught in his throat. She was gorgeous, red hair falling thickly over her left shoulder. Her skin was fully clear of blemishes, and had a soft expression. She blinked at him through vivid blue eyes.

"Hello." She said softly, unfolding her legs and standing up. She moved to the doorway. "Are you...? You must be -"

"Willas." He blurted out.

She smiled and quietly said, "I'm Sansa."

Sansa Stark. He remembered her now. Well, not actually her, he’d never seen her in person before. But she’d dated Joffrey Baratheon before Margaery had, and he recalls Margaery and Loras mentioning meeting her at a Baratheon garden party years ago. Garlan had met her when he went to Margaery and Joffrey’s wedding, and his grandmother had also been acquainted with her sometime along the twisted storyline that was Margaery and Joffrey’s somewhat-relationship.

He also remembered being set up on a date with her almost a year ago, but plans fell through and she’d never showed up. Seeing her now, part of him really wished she had.

"Oh." He said dumbly.

An awkward pause settled into the conversation

_Say something_.  _Converse._

She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "I'm... Um..."

"Margaery's friend?"

"Yes. She told me I could stay here for a while -" She paused.

"Alright. I mean, great. Well it's nice to meet you. If you need anything..." He trailed off.

She smiles slightly, and then turned back to her suitcase.

Willas took this as his cue to leave. He closed the door behind him dejectedly.

He stood outside in the hallway, blankly looking at the door trying to decide what to do.

She was in his room. Technically, he’d moved out when he started college and hadn’t been back since, so he supposed his parents had the right to turn his room into a guest room. But now he had no idea where he should go.

* * *

Dinner at the Tyrell household was always a mixed bag.

The matriarch of the family, Olenna Redwyne, sat at the head of the table, bony fingers clasped, with hawk eyes looking for a weakness to exploit. The trick, Willas had learned after years, was to avoid her eyes. And when she did engage you in conversation, the fewer words, the better. She was impatient, and didn’t like to beat around the bush in any sense of the word. The only time Willas ever truly felt comfortable around her was when they were tending to the gardens together. If there was one thing Olenna loved, it was her roses. And Margaery. The two women shared a bond that Willas often sensed made his mother jealous. But they were so alike in personality and manner, it was no wonder they spent so much time together.

Next to her sat Mace Tyrell, and next to him, Alerie. His father, forever taking the brunt of Olenna’s vindictive pleasure to criticize everything, was a broad-shouldered man that had the stereotypical Tyrell brown hair and brown eyes. His mother, originally Alerie Hightower, was a small woman with a kind smile. She, among the grand personalities of the family, was, at heart, a mediator. She was logical and pragmatic, and loved her children dearly. They had married for convenience and money. They were friendly with one another, but it was not to be confused with any sort of romance, and they channeled all of that into how they raised their children.

Everyone was required to dress up a little, or at least look decent. If anything, to avoid being ridiculed or scrutinized by the older woman at the head of the table.

On Olenna’s other side sat an empty chair, usually reserved for Margaery. Then Loras, and Willas sat in between him and Garlan. Garlan’s wife, Leonette, was conspicuously absent, and when questioned by Olenna, Garlan answered that she wasn’t feeling well.

Across the table from Willas sat Sansa. She’d changed out of what she was wearing before into a soft-looking white lace dress falling right before her knees, and the front pieces of her hair twisted up. She stared at her plate, using her fork to play with the pasta in front of her.

“So, Sansa.” Olenna said, startling her and making her look up. “How long do you expect to be staying?”

“Oh, just until I can get back on my feet, find an apartment somewhere close to campus.” Sansa replied quietly, her voice even. “It won’t be too long, I don’t mean to be a burden.”

“You’re not, dear.” She pronounced, her tone bordering on kind. Alerie smiled at Sansa as well, and Willas watched her shoulders unclench a little. “Just curious”

Olenna then turned to Willas.

“Willas. You seem to have materialized back into our lives once more. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“My apartment’s getting renovated.”

“Anything wrong?”

“A problem with the drywall. It’s fine, now.”

“Ah, how nice.” Olenna said artificially. “I do hope you know this is because you insist on living in a slum instead of staying up here with the rest of us.”

“It’s closer to the office.” He said shortly, trying to keep his tone steady. He didn’t live in a slum, it was a nice, normal middle-class neighborhood, half gay men with dogs and half just-married couples. But he knew arguing was futile.

“There’s no need to get an attitude with me, young man.” She replied bitingly. “You know just as well as I the only reason you choose to live there is some sort of quiet rebellion, which is, by the way, absurd.”

He didn’t answer, merely took a huge bite of his dinner to have an excuse not to answer another question if asked one.

When he looked up, he found Sansa’s eyes intently on him. They almost made him jump, how focused and clear they were. But as soon as he met hers, she quickly focused back on her lap.

* * *

With a sufficient amount of effort, Sansa managed to open the window successfully. A warm, calming breeze floated in, making stray pieces of her hair dance.

She moved away and got into bed, pulling the covers to her chin.

She closed her eyes, and even though she found herself exhausted, she tossed and turned but couldn’t fall asleep.

Willas Tyrell’s face came into her head. He had kind eyes. He was older than she was, probably around twenty-five, and had the suggestion of a beard around his chin. But his face was pleasant to look at, different from the blatant Tyrell attractiveness of both Margaery and Loras.

It was a brief distraction from the cycle of her usual thoughts, a constant beating drum of Joffrey, Littlefinger, Joffrey, Lord Baelish, Lannisters, dad, mom, Robb -

She’d wished she’d been able to bring her sleeping pills with her. She’d left in such a hurry that they must have got lost along the way.

She found herself curling up into a ball as tightly as she could. She stayed that way, paralyzed until she finally fell asleep just as the sun came up.


	2. Inexplicable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yes, actually... do you know about what time lunch is?”
> 
> “No one else is home today, so I was about to have it now. You can join me, if you’d like.”
> 
> “I don’t want to intrude.” 
> 
> “You’re not.” He said. “Really.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So thanks to anyone who actually read the first chapter and liked it, it started out as a oneshot but then it sort of grew into a multi-chaptered story, and I'm really enjoying writing it. I hope someone enjoys reading it too!
> 
> I didn't specify before, but this is set in America, meaning that places like Kings Landing translate to real locations around the US. Just to clear that up.
> 
> Also, this chapter is relatively short, but the next one is on the long side, so it makes up for it.

**Chapter 2: Inexplicable**

The midday sun shown down brightly on her pale face as she tilted her head up to stare back at it. She hadn’t been used to the heat, having spent almost three months in rain, but the marble bench she sat on provided some sort of cooling effect.

Her fingers played with the ends of her red hair, staring blankly at them searching for split ends. It’s Saturday, and everyone seemed to be busy. Margaery still hadn’t come back from Greece, and neither Garlan nor Loras actually lived at Highgarden anymore. She had no idea what to do, so she thought she fancied a stroll around the gardens. It was called Highgarden for a reason, right?

And it definitely was. Almost miles of expertly-gardened plots of different plants spanned all around her. There were exotic and domestic breeds alike, fruit trees and flowers and bushes and vegetables, she’d be hard pressed to find a plant species that wasn’t represented somewhere in the garden. There was a white gazebo far off near the otherside of the garden, its rounded top reaching almost as tall as the tops of the four trees that stood around it. Birds flew in the sky, and Sansa had watched a lone white cat slink through the lower bushes some feet away from her.

It was as if the Greek “heaven” Elysium had been made a reality.  

And she hated it. She hated that she couldn’t appreciate the calm and serene landscape or warm breeze, because the only thing that would fill the empty chasm in her heart was snow and thick blankets and hot chocolate. She hated that she could barely sleep, because every time she closed her eyes, she saw too much. Everything flooded through her veins - her father’s decapitated head, Joffrey’s fingers bruising her skin, rings splitting her lip, rough hits from the Kingsguard, Littlefinger’s cruel smile and dark and twisting eyes, and his whispers in her ear.

But she hated herself, mostly. Because every “tragedy” that had befallen her had been at the hands of none other than Sansa Stark, and her alone. The weight sat heavily on her shoulders.

She leaned her head back, closing her eyes against the brightness of the sky. She sat like that for a while, trying to enjoy the warmth of the sun across her face.

But it didn’t feel good. She felt burnt.

She moved to sit under a tree, hoping that she’d like the shade more. She watched, far away in the distance, someone walking dogs. There were five of them, walking in a poised, dignified manner obediently next to their human companion figure.

Her eyes ached. The sun reached it’s peak, and all of a sudden, the air felt sweltering around her pale skin.

Her rumbling stomach got the better of her, and she found herself sneaking back into the castle through a servant’s portal, choosing not to open the front doors and risk making too much of a stir.

It wasn’t until she’d tried three different corridors that she realized she had no idea where she was going. The residence itself was huge, and all the hallways looked the same.

She wandered around, opening doors and each time she tried one praying that she wouldn’t walk in on anything. She’d tried almost three before she paused for a moment, trying to decide if it was worth it or if she should just wait until dinner to eat.

“Lost?” A voice asked her.

She whirled around, embarrassed to be creeping around the house the way she was. Willas stood in the doorway, looking at her with a smile playing at his lip.

He wore a light blue button-down with jeans, leaning against his cane casually. The cane itself was simple, of dark, polished wood, designed to not call attention to itself. His cheeks and chin were covered in brown, scratchy-looking stubble.

“A little... actually completely, I guess.” She replied.

He took a step towards her. “Looking for anything?”

“Um, no - ” She started, and then stopped. She was hungry, and she was looking for the kitchens. But she doubted it would be at all courteous to admit to poking around someone else’s home in pursuit of eating their food.

But he was asking, and he seemed like he genuinely wanted to help.

“Yes, actually... do you know about what time lunch is?”

He glanced over his shoulder down the hall, but found nothing, and then turned back to her.

“No one else is home today, so I was about to have it now. You can join me, if you’d like.”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not.” He said. “Really.”

He offered her his left arm, and she smiled despite herself at the old-fashioned gesture. She took it, and he lead her through the hallway, and then through the living room, until they finally reached the dining room where dinner had been served.

The room seemed much larger than it had the night before, when every chair had been filled. Now it felt that the seats were too far away, and she had to yell to speak to him.

Before she could say a thing, Willas got up from the seat he’d chosen at the head of the table and sat back down right across the table from her. He smiled at her as a tall man in a butler’s uniform strode up to the table.

“Hello Jameson.” Willas greeted him warmly. The man responded in kind.

“Good afternoon Mr. Tyrell. What would you like for lunch today?”

“Could I just have the usual?”

The butler nodded, his wizened face smiling dutifully.

“And how about you, Miss Stark?”

“Just a salad for me, please.”

“What kind of salad would you like?”

“Um, Caesar?”

“Very well. Your meals will be out shortly.”

Sansa watched the butler leave, and when she turned back to the table, she found Willas’ eyes on her.

They were pretty, his eyes. Not flashy gold, like Loras’, but a soft hazel, a melt of earthy green and warm brown, with dark eyebrows above them. The way the looked at her made her confused. They were not analyzing her and adding up the sum of her parts, calculating her weaknesses. They were not looking at her with cruel delight or sick admiration. There was no hidden darkness behind them. That she could see.

“So you’re in college?” He asked, abruptly startling her out of her stare and making her eyes jump down to her lap.

“Yep, I’m at ‘West.”

“What’s your major?”

“Undecided.”

“Well, what classes are you taking?”

“I actually just started. I’m supposed to be a sophomore, but last year when I should have been a freshman - I wasn’t in college - “

“Ah. You’re nineteen.” His voice seemed edging on disappointment, but his face still looked content. He poured her a glass of water from the pitcher on the table, and she took it gladly.

“I apologize for my interruption, your classes?”

The corners of her mouth perked up. He spoke in an old-fashioned, high-minded sort of cadence that somehow did not come across pretentious.

He looked at her expectantly, so she answered, “I’m taking Social Theory in Historical Context, American literature, Modern Eastern Europe Culture, and Introduction to Astrology.”

“Impressive.” He commented. “Why Astrology?”

“It’s present throughout history. Next year I’m hoping to get into an Ancient History course about Eastern culture, and I think it’ll help.”

The butler, along with another woman carrying a second plate, re-entered the room. Sansa’s elegantly prepared Caesar salad was tiny in comparison to the two plate served to Willas' overflowing plate.

“Not for the beauty of stars and fate, then?”

She snorted. “Astrology isn’t actually real.”

She took a bite of her salad. The lettuce was the perfect kind, icy and cold. That kind of lettuce was more popular up north, and it was a pleasant surprise.

“Why do you say that?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

“It was started as one of the many ways ancient civilizations strived to understand the world. But as technology advanced, it was discarded by credible scientists because of it’s untestability.”

“So everything’s all just science? Life is just coincidence, there’s no cosmic intervention or higher power?”

She used to believe in God. Her parents would take her to the church two blocks away, with the centuries-old stained glass windows and the gold-encrusted crucifixes. Her mother dressed her in her best clothes, pink dress and a matching pink ribbon in her hair. The stories were ancient and grand, and sat in her heart alongside her books of fairytales and romantic comedy movies she hid in a drawer in her room because her mother said she was too young for them.

She believed in fate. She believed in soul-mates.

But these past few years had proved those ideas dead wrong. And even if there was something up there, it sure didn’t give a shit about her.

“No.” She said firmly. “There isn’t.”

He looked at her for a long while, opened his mouth like he wanted to argue with her, but then didn’t. He took another bite of his food and chewed thoughtfully for a moment, before choosing to move the conversation back into a lighter tone.

“I wish I’d taken courses like that in undergrad. I was all business and money-making.”

“Practical.”

He shrugged, and smiled. They ate in silence for a bit. Until he cleared his throat, asking, “Where were you before coming here?”

“Nevada.” She said sharply.

“Really? What city?”

She was clenched, hoping that he wouldn’t pry. “Las Vegas.”

“I’ve never been.” He leaned in, asking sarcastically, “Does it live up to the hype?”

Vegas’ dirty streets, the too-bright neon lights, the stink of cheap beer and dehydrated desert skin, electric guitar, and Petyr’s dank basement flooded through her mind in alarming density.

“Do you work? Or are you still in school?” She said pointedly.

He took the hint, answering, “I just graduated grad school, got my MBA. I work at the Tyrell Blooming Roses Charity Foundation in town.”

“That sounds rewarding.” He could have sworn he heard an underlying sarcasm in her voice, but he might have been wrong.

“It is.” He said. “Not all of our charity dinners include Edric Storm getting so drunk he has to grab womens’ chests to stay upright, I promise.”

She laughed at this, melodical and tinkly but strong. He realized he liked to watch her laugh.

All of a sudden, a dog burst through the half-open door and bounded in. It was a brown-and-white pitbull, its tongue rolling out of its mouth and it ran and met Willas, jumping up and putting it’s paws on the arm of Willas’ chair. He scratched behind the dog’s ears, his mouth expanding into a wide smile as the dog panted.

“Hey Max!” He laughed, and the dog pushed against his hand good-naturedly.

He reminded her so powerfully of Robb and Grey Wind in that moment, she bit the inside of her cheek to try to stop from crying.

_Stop. Breathe._

“I had a pet when I was younger.” She said tightly, hoping that if she spoke the lump in her throat would go away.

_You should be stronger than this. Don’t you dare cry._

He grinned. “A dog?”

She shook her head. “A wolf.”

His mouth dropped a little softly, his eyes widening.

“I know, it sounds crazy, but my father’s old business logo was of a wolf, and we had it on almost everything in our house - ”

“Like roses?” He laughed, motioning around to the rose-engraved chairs and tapestries around the room.

She cracked a smile, and then continued, “Yeah. We’d been begging to get a dog for years, so finally my father took us to a shelter to pick one out. And we looked at some labradors and some pugs, and were trying to decide, when the employees that worked there brought in a wolf they’d just rescued, along with six puppies. And, so, all of us decided, at that moment, that that was what we wanted. It seemed like fate, there were six of us and one puppy for each. I was eleven at the time, but still pretty good at guilting my dad into things. And finally, after begging for almost a half an hour or so, he said we could get them.”

She looked so profoundly sad in that moment, he wished he could reach out and touch her. Her hand was sitting so close to his, but then she dropped it back into her lap, and focused her gaze back to straight in front of her.

“Do you want any dessert?” He asked, and she dropped her eyes, standing up from her seat.

“No, thank you.” She replied, her voice polite and distant. “I think I’ll go rest for a while, actually, I’m feeling pretty tired.”

“Ok.”

She left the room tensely, and he stared at her half-eaten salad dejectedly.

He sat back in his seat, leaning his head on the chair back and staring up at the ceiling.

He shouldn’t have asked her about her past. From the bits and pieces of information he’d collected about her life, her father being killed by a back-door hitman after being accused of betraying corporate secrets from Baratheon Industries, her brother and mother being murdered, and her sister still officially missing and presumed dead. Sansa Stark had also seemingly dropped off the face of the earth for almost six months, and then randomly showing up in his room the day before.

He can’t imagine going through any of that. Sure, he hated his siblings sometimes, because Margaery could be gossipy and materialist and Loras could be cruel, and Garlan could be distant, but he couldn’t fathom any of them dying. But here she was, basically without a family, still living.

He wanted to speak to her. Talking with her had been riveting, she was intelligent and articulate, and he wanted to devour more of her words. He wanted to lend her _The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying_ , and he wanted her to argue with him, and lend him a book of hers.

There was something special about her.

He got up from the table, scratching Max’s head idly, and resolved to show her the library the next time he saw her.


	3. Attempted Ablution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The heavy front double doors opened in a grand entrance as the youngest and only Tyrell daughter strutted through the entryway, her head held high despite the weight of her caravan of luggage trailing behind her.
> 
> “I’m home!” Margaery’s commanding voice shouted from the front entrance."

Hazed, Willas pushed his legs out of bed and sat up. His eyes blinked at the bright white sunlight filtering in his window past the tied-back white curtains.

This room was smaller in comparison to his own, located at the opposite side of the castle. It overlooked the stables, next to the Ivy tower. It was comfortable, but he couldn’t shake off the smell of perfumed rose-water that seemed to have seeped into everything in the room.

The constant dulled ache radiated from his left leg, and with an annoyed sigh, Willas uncapped the bottle of pain pills sitting on the table next to his bed.

He was a cripple. The word used to fill him with a sort of blinding, red rage so out of character it scared him. Since then, he’d become more and more numb to it, but there was still an underlying deep-rooted resentment inside him toward the dead appendage following him around wherever he went.  

The bullet had been lodged so far into his kneecap that extraction left his knee permanently paralyzed. The nerve tissue was ruined, and he’d been outfitted with an extraordinarily expensive prosthetic that was scheduled to take almost two years to actually master, with consistent physical therapy and regular medical check-ups. He could barely bend it, and it became like dead weight, slowing him down in everything.

His father bought him the cane two days after he came home from the hospital.

Loras had also been injured in the fight, but his had been much less severe. He’d broken his arm, and although it would never heal well enough for him to return to football, he’d already been offered a coaching job weeks before. Things tended to fall into place like that for him.

His mother had cared for him dutifully for months after, outfitting his apartment with a metal handlebar in the shower and other things that made him feel like he was living in an old folk’s home. She’d only stopped her regular checkups two months ago, and she seemed the happiest to have him back at Highgarden, eager to have someone to fret over (her children had all moved out, and much to her dismay, she had yet to receive any grandchildren to spoil).

His grandmother had managed to finagle him a handicapped sticker for his car. He supposed that was one good thing that had come out of it, now he didn’t have to worry about parking in the constantly-crowded neighborhood Blooming Roses’ headquarters were situated in.

He stood up, still half-leaning on the bedpost, stretching his arms over his head until his back cracked. Padding the short walk to the bathroom door, he stifled a yawn.

He picked up his shaving cream, stared at it for a second, and then up at his reflection in the mirror. He inspected his cheeks analytically, and eventually reached the decision he could go another day before his grandmother insisted (“You look like a homeless man, Willas, kindly shave that scruff off your face and represent the Tyrell name in the way it deserves to be.”)

He dressed for work. A couple of birds flew past his window, and he smiled privately at the sound of dogs barking after them. He ran a hand through his hair, picking up his briefcase and cane.

The heavy front double doors opened in a grand entrance as the youngest and only Tyrell daughter strutted through the entryway, her head held high despite the weight of her caravan of luggage trailing behind her.

“I’m home!” Margaery’s commanding voice shouted from the front entrance.

Her hair was fashionably pinned half-up-half-down, wearing a white sundress that clung to her body, adding a spring in her step in the way that only a new dress can.

“Hey, Marg.” Willas came hurrying in from the dining room, straightening his jacket as he moved to hug her. “Loras is out.”

“Grandmother?”

“In the gardens.” He held a piece of toast in his mouth and slid past her to the door. “Sorry, I’ve gotta run, but dinner tonight?”

“That would be lovely, thank you Willas. So much to catch up on.” She said. He exhaled a laugh, and left the house. Margaery took a breath, looking up at the stairs where her eyes met someone elses’.

“Sansa.” She breathed in surprise.

Sansa smiled, and walked to meet Margaery. Margaery reached out and pulled her into a hug, and Sansa reciprocated after a moment.

“Glad to see you’re settled in.” Margaery chirped. “Sorry I wasn’t here to receive you.”

“Thank you for letting me stay here at all.” Sansa replied.

“We’ve got to catch up as well.” Margaery said pointedly, winking, and then moving past her up the stairs. Sansa stayed, standing in the entryway, her jaw locked at seeing Margaery again. Someone from the old world, and it sent a nervous chill down her shoulders.

* * *

She jumped into her classes, listening to the professor’s lecture and scribbling down notes as fast as she can. She was always interested in how people think, how society was formed and why.

It was a relief to be faceless, part of a crowd. She blended into the sea of college students flooding through West’s campus.

She wanted to be a history major, but she wasn’t sure what her speciality was, or if it was even worth it. Her chronic indecisiveness was a new-found flaw.

But she enjoyed reading, she always had. Her eyes scanned the coursework quickly, absorbing the information and eager to put it to use. It felt lovely to be able to act like a relatively normal college student, for school to be her primary concern and to worry about papers to write and textbooks to read.

She forgot that she was Sansa Stark. And she liked that.

* * *

Margaery insisted on taking her out to lunch, but it was not what Sansa was expecting.

Firstly, instead of the posh steak restaurant she assumed Margaery would frequent, they arrived at a cheap serving-breakfast-all-day diner with a faint neon coffee cup buzzing in the window. The sign over the door reads “Augustin’s”

In response to Sansa’s vaguely confused expression, Margaery giggled a little and explained to her that the thing she was really craving was comfort food, and also that she didn’t want to run into anyone. The latter much more logical.

The two sat down in a table by the window, but the blinds were half-pulled down and there were clouds in the sky, half-threatening rain. A middle-aged woman in an apron smiled as she saw Margaery come in, and within seconds, she placed a cup of coffee down on the table. Margaery smiled in response, and then the woman passed Margaery and Sansa menus, and strode back through the swinging door to the kitchen.

“So, have you been liking Highgarden?” Margaery queried, dipping a spoon into her cup and stirring.

Sansa forced herself to smile. “Yes, very much.”

“Have you seen the gardens?”

“I took a walk last weekend. They’re gorgeous.” Sansa said airily, blankly staring out the window. “I also noticed you have quite a large stable.”

“Mostly Willas’ horses. He used to love riding.” Margaery said fondly, taking a sip of coffee. “Now he just visits them. Loras still rides, though, and Garlan does occasionally as well.”

“Do you ride?”

“Sometimes. I haven’t had much of a chance lately, haven’t been home to see them.”

“Right.” Sansa stared down at her hands for a moment before saying evenly, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Margaery laughed.

“Nice effort. I hope you remember it’s impossible to sneak a lie past me, Alayne.”

Sansa’s breath died in her throat.

“What did you say?”

The waitress was back, placing a stack of pancakes in front of Margaery and a plate in front of Sansa. Though eating was the last thing on her mind, and it barely registered.

Margaery did not reply, kept an apathetic expression and started to pour syrup on her pancakes.

“Loras says I put too much syrup. But they’re better when they’re soggy. Don’t you think?”

Sansa exhaled shortly, almost like a nervous laugh.

She’d been caught. Margaery had eyes and ears everywhere, many friends as she had enemies. She knew, and there was nothing she could do to make her forget.  

“How did - how did you find out?” Sansa said finally.

Margaery smiled. “Oh, come on Sansa. You go missing the night of the wedding, Petyr Baelish’s bastard daughter resurfaces in Vegas, Sansa Stark’s conviction of being an accomplice in the murder of Joffrey Baratheon is cleared, Littlefinger is stabbed to death and his daughter vanishes, and then I run into you wandering the streets of L.A. a month later. It’s all obvious.”

_Speak!_ Sansa searched for something to say, an excuse, anything. With Margaery knowing all she did, she could go to jail, possibly even -

“Don’t worry, I’m not planning on telling anyone. The only other person who’s still alive and aware of all this is Loras, and he’s going to keep his mouth shut as well.”

This made her freeze again. It didn’t make sense, this must somehow be to her advantage. How, Sansa didn’t know. So she would choose to take it for what it was now, because she didn’t really have any other choice.

“...Thank you.” She said slowly.

Margaery took a bite of her pancake, looking at her thoughtfully. “I like you, Sansa. You’ve been friendly through some bad times, and for all the things I know about you, you know the same kind of things about me.”

“What happened after?” She asked, her curiosity getting the best of her. “I mean, why Santorini, and why did you come home?”

“Well, after Joffrey’s death, Cersei wanted me out.” Margaery replied nonchalantly. “And you remember his younger brother, Tommen?”

Sansa recalled him as a boy of thirteen who liked playing with kittens and eating cake. He was all smiles. She never understood how he could have been related to anyone else in his family.

“Sweet boy.” Margaery continued. “She found us talking one night, after almost a month of her ruined plans to get rid of me. And she immediately pulled him away from me, hissing something about how I was a cradle-robbing temptress, something along those lines. You know how that horrid bitch can be.” Margaery rhythmically sawed her pancakes. “Anyway, she told me that she could accuse me of pedophilia, or I was to, and I quote, “leave Bel Air and never return again.” I shit you not.”

Sansa barks a laugh. She remembers her and Margaery’s talks on the deck of the Baratheon mansion, sipping champagne and feeling for a moment like they weren’t living in hell. She thinks they would have been best friends, maybe, had the situation been different. Even now, Sansa wished there weren’t so many things dividing them.

“So I left, grabbed Loras, and caught the next flight out of California. Landed here, took a beat, and then flew somewhere I could relax, out of the country.”

“Greece must have been nice.”

“I dropped ten pounds and got a tan. It’s been good for me.” Margaery said, shrugging and finishing her first pancake. “But now I’m back. Grandmother’s already planning my next move, but if I’m being honest with you, I’m tired.”

“L.A. will do that to you.” Sansa found herself smiling as Margaery smiled back at her.

“They call me the Black Widow.” Margaery told her. “It’s actually pretty clever.”

“They do have a proclivity for clever nicknames.”

“Proclivity. Nice word.”

“I do _read_.”

The girls both laughed. Margaery rested her chin on her knuckles, tilting her head and looking at Sansa.

“I like to see you smile. You don’t do it enough.” She said.

“Don’t have much cause to.”

“I hope you’ll be happy at Highgarden.” Margaery said, her voice earnest. It almost sounded like Catelyn, and it made Sansa’s chest hurt. “Truly.”

“I think I will.” Sansa replied honestly, thinking about the lovely gardens and the dogs and the horses and also a bit of Willas and their conversation over lunch. “Thank you.”

* * *

_She walks between the trees, her bare feet crunching snow below them. But her skin absorbs the cold, filters it through her veins, and she has never felt so alive. Her vision is so clear and her heart so full, and the woods behind her house have never looked so beautiful._

_She arrives in the center of the woods, where Jon is leaning against one of the thick tree trunks and Bran and Arya are chasing each other and Rickon is laughing, sitting in Robb’s lap. She sees them, a few feet away from her. But every time she tries to walk towards them, they get farther and farther away, and she starts to run, but the space between them gets larger, and there’s nothing she can do about it._

_And her feet start to get cold, so cold that they burn, and the bottoms of them bleed._

_Hands, some rough and callused, some smooth and manicured, rip away her clothing until she’s standing, naked, in a stone room. No windows, no door, no escape. Soon there’s no more cloth to come off, and they start to rip her skin instead, and it’s sharp heat everywhere. They rip away her muscle until there’s nothing left but her bones, and she feels nothing, nothing, she has nothing left but they keep grasping at air -_

She woke up, sweaty, and kicked the sheets off her body. Her breathing was hard and shallow, her lungs screaming for air, and she raked her fingers through her hair.

She walked in a circle around the room blindly, and suddenly all she wanted to do was scrub herself clean.

She roughly turns the knob, and pulls up the plug, submerges herself in cold water. She’s shivering, but it feels good. It makes her feel alive, but it hurts.

Her hand reaches down and changes the water to hot, and her shoulder muscles start to relax against the heat. Her breathing starts to slow down, her heart unclenching and tears start to run thickly down her face. They mix with the stream of water from the showerhead above.

The shower drowns out her sobs.

She was alone.

Arya, her only sister, had gone missing directly after her father’s death. “Presumed dead” was much worse than just “dead”, because it allowed a sliver of hope to fester in Sansa’s heart that said that Arya could still be alive somewhere out there. And that hurt more than anything.

Jon, her stepbrother, was gone, away in Afghanistan fighting a war her father hated, probably never to return. Bran and Rickon, her baby brothers, had been rumored to be somewhere in Canada, but those were only whispers. There was no one responsible for them, they could have even been put into the foster system, for all she knew.

During her time with the Baratheon’s, after she agreed to get engaged to Joffrey, she had become effectively chained. She wasn’t allowed outside the house, and all her calls were monitored. For a short time after her father’s death, she almost still believed that she’d been right, she’d chosen the good path, that she could still get everything she wanted.

It wasn’t until he slapped her in front of his business shareholders and investors that she lost all hope in her situation. Then came his affair with Margaery, and the broken engagement, and the title of caged mistress became the thing she was called by, and meetings with Dontos behind the church on Lexington, and Petyr and Vegas and everything that made naive, full heart shrivel up and die, to be replaced by stone.  

She should have spoken to Robb and her mother. She should have risked it. To hear their voices on last time would have been worth the consequences. Now, even if she called, there would be no answer.

She had been stupid. Stupid and silly and a ditz, seeking money and fame through the big screen and the glitz and glamour of Hollywood. It just so happened her father’s best friend was Robert Baratheon, owner of Baratheon Industries, and by extension, the biggest film production company in California.

And then she’d met his son. Joff Baratheon, the boy she’d seen on the cover of magazines, previous leading man now turned film producer (at only age sixteen!). He had that ‘N Sync boy-band quality that made her swoon and a dazzling smile that drew her in, telling her she looked pretty. He danced with her at her parents’ party, and she was coy and sexy and everything Seventeen magazine told her to be.

Under the guise of auditioning for his next film, she agreed to a date. Then another, and the production on the apparent blockbuster was stopped, but he was so cute, so she agreed to another after that.

She’d put all her eggs into the wrong basket, and trusted it not to break. And when she lost sight of reality, after Robert died in a car accident and her boyfriend sat in the seat at the head of the table, she served her father up on a silver platter.

It was because of her that Ned Stark was dead. Her father, her protector, died at the hands of his princess.

The unraveling of the entire Stark family was her fault. The blood of everyone, her brothers, her sister, her mother, her father, was on her hands. They were all gone by her believing to trust a pretty face instead of the family that loved her unconditionally no matter how stupid she acted.

She wished, more than anything, that she could wash the red off, but it had stained her skin permanently. No amount of soap or scrubbing could change that.

She stays and cries until the hot water runs cold again.


	4. Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Thanks for lunch, I had a good time.” Sansa told him, moving toward the landing of the stairs. Her fingers grabbed the polished-wood railing, and she almost skipped up the stairs.
> 
> He stood, watching her leave, until Margaery smacked his shoulder roughly, making him almost stumble.
> 
> He yelped. Glaring at Margaery, he shouted, “What was that for?!”
> 
> “You know exactly what that was for.”

His hand jumped up to his hair, fingers running through in a habitual manner of a scattered mind.

****

It was the end of the month.

****

Willas hated the end of the month.

****

Besides the sentimentality of watching another time period of his life go by, the end of the month meant stress and pressure.

****

The end of the month was the board meeting. Sure, during the meat of the month he had meetings with and around the board, but this one was the board meeting. He had to give a full presentation on where the funders’ money had gone to and every other miniscule financial and public move the company made.

****

The board members, all instituted by Olenna, were old and grouchy and hated Willas. And on top of everything else, this month he was going to ask for some extra money to cover the catering budget they exhausted last month.

****

He didn’t like stress. He was not a particularly ambitious man to begin with, and then with the added eclipsing of his aspirations by Loras’ ruthless competitive nature and Garlan’s big dreams, he let that part of him fade.

****

“Mr. Tyrell?”

****

He looked up from the floor-plan of the banquet hall they had used for the auction. “Yes?”

****

“Accounting just sent up the pages, but graphics isn’t done with their end yet. Oh, and your grandmother called.”

****

He took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose and staring up at his office ceiling. There was a fork-shaped crack in the corner.

****

“Thank you Kelsey.” He said finally.

 

* * *

 

“What are you reading?” Sansa asked, sitting down in the armchair next to his.

****

The drawing room, so pretentiously titled, was furnished with far too many seats then were really necessary. Olenna always insisted that the room was too “casual” for dinner parties (which, in Willas’ opinion, was absurd), with its heavily cushioned leather chairs and mahogany coffee tables, so no more than four people occupied the seven chairs available. One of the walls was entirely covered in shelves full of books, and there were small banker-lights to match every coffee table. It look remarkably alike to the library, which resided on the other side of the castle, yet with much less pomp and grandeur.

****

He held up the numerous loose pieces of computer-paper than littered his lap dejectedly. “Financial records.”

****

She’d arrived seemingly out of nowhere with her hair pulled back in a ponytail and a pair of jeans, toting a plastic water bottle and an old copy of a nondescript leather-bound book.

****

“That’s sounds...”

****

“...Boring?.”

****

They both laughed.

****

She took a breath. “I was always terrible at math.” She admitted.

****

“Really?”

****

“Yeah. Is that hard to believe, or something?”

****

“No, no. I just - never mind.”

****

“Well, yes, I am. But I was - am - good with reading and writing. Language. I could bullshit my way through any subject with just playing with words. In math, there’s only one right answer and that’s it. There’s no room for variation.”

****

She paused.

****

She couldn’t understand why she was telling him all this. She’d only met him a little over a week ago. She didn’t know him. Why was she volunteering so much information about herself?

****

It was a strange feeling. When she was around Willas, she wanted him to know about her, just the same way she craved to know things about him.

****

She liked talking to him. He was intelligent and their conversations were a give and take, and she liked the way that he talked to her like she was her own separate entity, as his equal, rather than someone who needed to be talked down to.

****

“That’s why I find math so accessible, though.” He explained, his brow furrowing as he stared down at the accounts. “It’s all objective. There are set rules, and as long as you follow them, you get the right answer.”

****

Sansa felt herself smile. “I never thought of it that way.”

****

The two fell into a silence, each looking at their respective reading material. But Willas couldn’t seem to keep focused on the numbers anymore.

****

“How’ve your classes been so far?” He asked, breaking the silence.

****

“Good, I - “

****

“Ah, there you are Willas.” Olenna’s voice boomed as she swept into the drawing room. She was wearing fashionable gardening clothes and a pained expression. “I’ve been looking all over for you, running around like a damn chicken without a head. I needed help with pruning.”

****

Sansa pulled down the corners of her mouth as Willas straightened up quickly in his seat. Olenna was a very intimidating woman, but it was amusing how much she managed to command complete obedience from her family.

****

“I’m sorry Grandmother. I was here.”

****

The older woman tilted her head and stared at him for a moment.

****

“Very well.” She replied brusquely, dusting off her hands. “Your horses need attending to, and I’m going to take a bath.”

****

She finally noticed Sansa’s presence and said simply, “Good morning, Sansa, dear.”

****

“Good morning.”

****

With that, Olenna exited the room. Willas put his records down on the coffee table between the chairs and got up.

****

“Sorry, she’s right, I’d better go see them. The stable boy - “

****

“Can I see them?” Sansa asked, her voice high and hopeful.

****

“The horses?”

****

“Yes.”

****

He grinned largely, tilting his head towards the door as he took a step away. “Sure. Come on.”

****

Sansa followed him through the castle and out into the early September light. The stables were a walk from the house, but it was a nice day and nice company.

****

When they reached their destination, Willas roughly tugged open the door, and the two entered the dark, musty but well-furnished stable. He walked to the horses’ stall casually, and Sansa hung back a little to watch him. The way he looked at them with such care made her smile on the inside.

****

“Hi pretty girl.” He muttered, gently patting the horse's nose. “This is Butter, she’s Margaery’s. And this one here is Garlan’s, and those two are Loras’. These five are mine.”

****

“Wow.” She murmured.

****

“Tom, the stable boy, feeds them and cleans their stalls. I leave him to do the dirty work.” He said jokingly. “But I do enjoy brushing them, so he usually leaves that to me. I walk them and help Grandmother enter them in horse shows, things like that.”

****

She hugged the post, staring at the chocolate-brown horse staring back at her. “Their coats are beautiful.”

****

He smiled.

****

“I haven’t ridden them in a while though, because of...” He trailed off, vaguely gesturing to his leg.

****

Sansa's eyes fell down to his leg, his pants covering an obvious brave underneath.

****

She'd forgotten he used a cane at all. He seemed learned at hiding it. His eyes turned to the horses and away from her, his jaw tight.

****

“I used to ride when I was young." She said, changing the subject.

****

He took the change gladly, returning to eye contact with her gratefully.

****

"Would you like to?" He asked, a black shiny horse nuzzling his hand. "They're starved for some action."

****

Sansa glanced at the horses shifting in their stalls, and tried to remember the last time Robb took her out riding. The day she can remember was before Kings Landing, with Arya tagging along. But she remembers the memory vaguely, like a whisper.

****

"I'd better - not." She replied apprehensively. "I'm not sure I remember."

****

He shrugged. "Alright."

****

"Thank you for showing me them, though."

****

His smile returns. "Anytime."

****

* * *

********  
  


"Will!" Margaery whined, punctuating her syllables with her just-manicured nails banging against the dashboard.  

****

"No, Margaery! Driver is in charge of the radio." Willas shouted back, his fingers gripping the wheel in aggravation.

****

Sansa’s head leaned against the window as she watched to two Tyrells from the back seat, biting her bottom lip to stop from laughing out loud. Margaery had been arguing with Willas about the music for the entirety of the ride to and now from lunch.

****

Her morning class had gone by flatly, and when she arrived back at Highgarden, Willas and Margaery were on their way out and invited her to go with them.

****

Between Margaery’s constant nettling of Willas and Willas’ biting responses, it had been easy for her to just relax for a beat.

****

"Sansa, come on, back me up."

****

"Don't bring me into this!"

****

Margaery threw up her hands and yelled, "You have the music taste of an old man!"

****

Sansa laughed loudly, letting her head fall back on the headrest of the seat. She pressed her temple against the car window, watching the trees on the side of the highway fly by while Margaery crossed her arms and sulked.  

****

They drove back to Highgarden with saxophones and bases filling the car and Willas grinning victoriously. After he pulled the car into the circular driveway, he jumped out and opened the back-seat door for Sansa before she could.

****

She stepped out, and his mouth curved upwards on one side as she moved past him. Out the corner of her gaze, she thought she saw Margaery roll her eyes as she closed the passenger-seat door.

****

Willas opened the front doors, throwing his keys down on the side table in the entryway.

****

“Thanks for lunch, I had a good time.” Sansa told him, moving toward the landing of the stairs. Her fingers grabbed the polished-wood railing, and she almost skipped up the stairs.

****

He stood, watching her leave, until Margaery smacked his shoulder roughly, making him almost stumble.

****

He yelped. Glaring at Margaery, he shouted, “What was that for?!”

****

“You know exactly what that was for.” Margaery said archly, moving to sit on the lowest step of the stairs.

****

“I can assure you, I have no idea.”

****

She scoffed. “Shut up dummy.”

****

“Why the hostility?”

****

She took a high heel off her left foot, sighing in comfort, before looking up at him impatiently.  

****

“Because I’m tired of you giving Stark cow-eyes all day!”

****

Willas’ eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”

****

“You know _exactly_ what I’m talking about!”

****

“I never know what you’re talking about, Marg.” He brushed it off, starting his way out and into the drawing room.

****

But Margaery jumped up, both heels now off her feet and in her hand.

****

She followed him, chirping after him talkatively. Outwardly, she was a very put-together person, choosing her words carefully and precisely, but whenever she was around Willas she sounded like she was thirteen again, no matter what.  

****

“I don’t want you to think I’m complaining, because I’m not, it’s great to see you out there again, you’ve been in a rut for almost a year! Ever since that coffee-shop girl dumped you, you’ve been all into work, never going out with Garlan and Leonette, always avoiding any kind of social interaction, and missing out on meeting anybody!”

****

“Margaery - “

****

“And it’s about time you’re getting back in the game, and Grandmother already knows Sansa so there’s no way for her to scare her off! It’s perfect!”

****

“I don’t like Sansa _that_ way.”

****

“Grandmother would be disappointed in you, Willas, you’re a terrible liar.”

****

“I don’t.”

****

She threw back her head and laughed. “It was like... like, in cartoons when their pupils turn into hearts and their tongues roll out and they walk around with birds following them all day.”

****

“No.” He paused momentarily, his hand on the doorknob. “She’s nineteen.”

****

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms and taking an offensive stance. “And?”

****

He searched for words, itching the side of his bearded cheek in irritation.

****

“She’s... so - she’s a child.”

****

“She’s not a child. She’s only a year younger than me!” She countered.

****

“Exactly my point.”

****

“Age is just a number.”

****

“I’m done talking about this.”

****

“Willas - “

****

“No.”

****

He left the room with an expression solely reserved for his little sister’s prodding and a headache.

****

He couldn’t ignore that she was gorgeous. Long legs, and striking eyes. Slender, but not angular. Soft. The way she carried herself just looked graceful, always, no matter what she was doing or where she was.

****

On top of that, she was smart. Intelligent and witty, and kept up with the conversation. His mother often chided him on his social manners, informing him that he often thought very deeply and said little, making it difficult for whoever he was talking to to contribute. But she seemed to understand the things he was saying, and he understood hers.

****

He looked forward to the times when they would run into each other somewhere on Highgarden grounds, or during meals, when they could talk again.

****

She’d been at Highgarden for only a little over two weeks, and he didn’t know how much longer she was planning to stay.

****

He wanted her to stay. But that didn’t mean that he was interested in her romantically.

****

_It was just good conversation._ He told himself firmly.

****

He lets his cane drop and flops onto his back, caught by pillows sitting atop his bed. He stared up at the ceiling, looking at it expectantly, as if it was supposed to answer the questions in his head. It didn’t respond.

****

He needed a shower.

****

He got up out of bed slowly, and left his bedroom in search of a towel. He supposed he could have rang for one, but maybe the short walk would do him some good.

****

Headed towards the linen closets upstairs, he gripped the railing annoyedly, making his slow way up the stairs. But when he got to the top landing, he spotted water shining slightly across the wood floor.

****

The water was dispersed in a haphazard pattern. Vaguely curious, he followed the trail, which lead right up to the walk-in linen closets he was in pursuit of.

****

Cautiously opening it, he jumped almost a foot in the air when a female voice yelped.

****

He stepped back, disoriented, and the girl (and source of the water) stepped out from behind the door.

****

Sansa stood in front of him, gripping the top of a fluffy white towel that was wrapped around her. Her hair was combed all to one side, auburn waves sending trickles of water down her arms and back.

****

His eyes immediately jumped to the ground, and swallowed the breath that had awkwardly caught in his throat seconds ago. A few half-thoughts flashed through his head too quickly for him to process them, and he froze up, unable to meet her eyes, but also unable to move.

****

He felt her look at him for a moment, then to the side, and then back to him.

****

“Oh shit. I’ve gotten the floor all wet, haven’t I?” She asked, her eyebrows furrowing as she looked past him down the hallway.

****

_Why is that towel so small?_

_**** _

_Stop looking. Stop it!_

****

“You’re fine, it’s fine, I mean, it’s fine, it’s cool. A-ok.”

****

_Shut up, you stupid bastard._

****

“Oh. I just... the room I’ve been staying in is just down the hall, and I took a shower, and I realized I didn’t have a towel, and I knew there was a closet full of them here, but I guess I didn’t really - “

****

He cleared his throat almost violently, forcing his gaze to stay down.

****

“Really, it’s alright.”

****

“Ok.” She started to sidestep him, but he beat her to it, stepping sideways. They almost danced around each other until their positions were switched, and she started to lazily walk backwards down the hall, still looking at him. “I’ll see you at dinner, then?”

****

“Yep. Yes, yes. I’ll see you at dinner.”

****

After she closed the door, Willas stood in the hallway for a moment, before walking back to his room, forgetting to actually get a towel at all.

****

He could have slapped himself. What the hell was that? A-ok? Who says that?

****

But his behavior, however infuriating it was, was not a surprise.

****

He had always been terrible with girls. The few semi-long-term girlfriends he’d had in and after college had been the type of dominating women found his “awkwardness” “cute”. They were strong women who thought they wanted a reliable, kind mate. He would grow attached, but in the end they broke up with him, claiming he was “too nice”.

****

Garlan had been lucky. He met Leonette in his sophomore year of college, and they’d been together ever since, happily.

****

Loras, on the other hand, had always been popular with women. He was a football player, with an added bonus of delicate but impeccable bone-structure, luscious locks, and impressively moisturized skin. He’d had more dates than both Willas and Garlan put together.

****

But life is ironic that way, because in the end, Loras never ended up with any of those women. Or a woman at all, blissfully unbeknownst to his parents. Come to think of it, Willas isn’t sure anyone knows the nature of those words besides him. Loras had chosen to confide in him, and he hadn’t said a word about it since. If anyone else knew, it certainly wasn’t because of him.

****

Willas opened the door to his room, rubbing his eyes roughly.

****

There was something about the way she looked, completely natural and clean and fresh. Add that to the unexpected temperament of the situation, and the image of her in the hall lingered in his mind long after.

****

* * *

****

Birds chirped loudly outside her window late that morning, but she was already up.

****

She turned over in bed, staring at the digital clock sitting on the night table next to her, reading 11:49.

****

She finally sat up slowly and carefully, hand coming up to massage the back of her neck. She glanced at her view of the fresh roses sitting on the vase across the room from the bed, and her suitcase still not unpacked. Margaery had taken her on a much-needed shopping trip, thankfully, and Sansa’s new clothes also still sat packed in the bags they’d been put into at the mall days before.

****

She rose from bed, wearing an oversized t-shirt and shorts, stepping in front of the simple square mirror mounted on the wall. She analyzed her face, as she did every morning.

****

Willas’ face appeared in her mind’s eye. She smiled in secondhand embarrassment from her past-self (as of last night), and how awkward things had been at dinner after their encounter in the hall.

****

It wasn’t the leering way she was used to, or even the menacing manner that she’d had to deal with before leaving California. He’d looked away, he’d respected her privacy.

****

But by him doing that, some tiny part of her had wanted him to give up that and just look at her -

****

She shook her head. She shouldn’t even be thinking about it.  

****

She put on a pink v-neck t-shirt and checked herself in the mirror. She sighed, noticing that the necklace was low enough to show the beginning of the long scar she had spanning from her chest to her back. She took it off, tossing it back into its bag, and rooting through her things to try to find another shirt.

****

She exchanged it for a soft grey t-shirt, and then pulled on a pair of jeans and shoes. She was about to leave, but returned to the mirror at the last second, deciding to twist up the front pieces of her hair, like her mother always used to.

****

She left the room, padding down the stairs and the hallways before she reached the dining room. She opened the door hopefully, and found Willas sitting at the end of the table half-hidden by a newspaper.

****

An unconscious part of her really liked that no one else was there.

****

“Hey.” She said, rousing him from his reading material.

****

He smiled, and returned the greeting.

****

The two had lunch together, abound with uncomfortable silences sparsed among their normal conversation topics. But she enjoyed it. She could feel him staring at her when they weren’t actively talking, and it made something in her stomach shift.

****

He got up after they’d finished, running a hand through his hair and insisting that he had to see to some business ventures before his father got home.

****

As he was walking out, she smiled after him. But before he could make his way out of the room, the end of his cane caught on the edge of the rug and slid out from under him, making him tumble horribly onto his chest.

****

Her chair fell over from her rising so fast, and she flew to where he was. She crouched, taking hold of his arm to try to help him up. But he immediately shrugged her off roughly.

****

“I’m fine, I’m fine, Ok?!” He yelled sharply. She flinched, retracting her hands and standing up rigidly. She was startled and confused.

****

He managed to take hold of the corner of the table, pushing himself up from there, and regaining his grip on his cane and his balance. He would not look at her for a moment, and she could see the back of his neck getting red.

****

The silence between them now had become dense.

****

She stood stiffly a few feet away from him, watching him, trying to gage what he wanted her to do. He looked severely embarrassed. Should she say something? Should she leave?

****

“I’m sorry.” He said finally, still not meeting her eyes. “I just... God, I hate this. Sorry.”

****

She took a step closer to him without thinking about it. “Are you - I mean, does it hurt? Are you ok?”

****

“I’m fine.” But he pulled out the chair closest to him and sat down, his fingers jumping to touch his knee. “I go through exercises at physical therapy that hurt much more than that.”

****

“How did...” She trailed off, clamping her mouth shut before she could finish the sentence. “Never mind.”

****

“What happened?” He asked, voicing her question.

****

It was her turn to be embarrassed now, and she took the seat next to him, saying, “You don’t have to tell me, I know that’s personal. Forget I even brought it up.”

****

“No, it’s alright. It’s not like it’s a secret.” He took a deep breath, and explained, “I got shot. In the knee. Almost a year ago.”

****

It took a moment to process the information. Her hand rose for a moment, maybe to reach out to touch his shoulder, but dropped at the last second.

****

“I... I’ve heard that can be really painful. My brother... A long time ago, my little brother was out on the roof of our house and fell. He... he was in a coma, for a while, but then he woke up. But the fall had made him unable to walk, and he had to use a wheelchair for the rest of his life.”

****

“I’m sorry.” He said kindly, his eyes warm. She had quickly grown to admire that trait about Willas - when she shared things with him, he cared. And she could see it. “That must have been hard for your family.”

****

“It was. As I’m sure your injury was with yours.”

****

He breathed a small, humorless laugh. “I hope I don’t dramatize my handicap too much, I am lucky. Eventually, I will be able to have full use of my legs, once I learn. My knee is nothing compared to your brother’s affliction.”

****

Sansa’s eyes stung a little at the memory of Bran, so she smiled and said simply, “It was a miracle he even woke up.”

****

“Loras was shot too. It only grazed his shoulder, but it was what forced him to retire his football career.” Willas replied. “We - well, Renly Baratheon was murdered. He was Loras’ best friend. And he was devastated.”

****

“I remember.” Sansa said slowly, remembering the newspapers and the headlines splashed across their covers. It was when she was still chained in Kings', and she devoured any news of the outside world she could.

****

Renly had been handsome and young and seemingly nice. It was rumored that he was trying to buy out Joffrey’s shares in Baratheon Industries, or something like that, and Joffrey had been overjoyed when it came out that the threat had been eliminated for him. “He was killed by that - that Tarth woman, wasn’t he?”

****

Willas shook his head, “No, she was a suspect, but in the end Loras found out that it was actually Stannis - Renly’s brother. He’d sent someone to get rid of him. It was part of a large power-play to take over Baratheon Industries. And Loras heard and told me that he was going to get Stannis back for everything that he’d taken from him.”

****

His eyes turned sad, and his gaze dropped. “I tried to talk him out of it for days, but he was determined. So the least I could do was go with him, maybe try to protect him, in any way I could. We went to Stannis’ estate, and snuck into the mansion, but we’d stupidly walked right into a room full of Stannis’ biggest supporters. And they saw Loras and I, and a gun in his hand, and put two and two together. They started shooting at us within seconds. We ran, and we got lucky. Loras’ shoulder was only grazed. But just before we get to the car, a guard shot at me, and hit my knee. Loras had to drag me up into the seat, and he drove for almost an hour with a bleeding shoulder before we could get to a hospital.”

****

She froze after he finished his sentence, eyes trained on the space over his shoulder. She felt almost jealous of him, that he could be so selfless when she was not. He took a bullet for his family when she was the one who was responsible for the one put in hers.

****

“That’s impressive - admirable, I mean.” She managed to say.

****

His eyebrows knitted together in puzzlement. “How so?”

****

“That you would stick with your brother through that. It’s loyal.”

****

He stared at her for a long moment, his head tilting just a little to the left. She noticed that he’d just shaved, his chin bare of the usual stubble he kept around his cheeks and jaw.

****

He shrugged, and replied modestly, “I don’t know. I never saw it that way, it was just the right thing to do.”

****

“So you have a prosthetic now?” Sansa asked abruptly, eyes skirting down to his knee beneath the table.

****

“Yep. I go to physical therapy Monday-Wednesday-Friday after work. Hopefully soon, I’ll be able to walk without this thing.” He gestured to his cane in annoyance.

****

The door to the dining room opened gradually, and Margaery and Loras entered in color-coordinated tennis clothes, smiling with identical Tyrell calm-smiles. Loras took the seat on Willas’ otherside, languidly stretching his arms over his head and closing his eyes.

****

“We’re going shopping.” Margaery said simply, taking Sansa’s hand and pulling her up from her seat.

****

“Didn’t we just go shopping two days ago?”

****

“And?”

****

Dragged away by Margaery, Sansa moved to leave the dining room. But just before she went through the door, she turned back to see Willas staring after her.

 

It made her cheeks warm up for the first time since she could remember.


	5. Ice Cream and Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They got on the road and were almost completely out of Highgarden grounds before Sansa asked, “So where are we going?”
> 
> He shrugged. “Anywhere you want.”
> 
> She thought for a moment, chewing her bottom lip, before replying, “Can... can we get ice cream?”
> 
> He nodded. “I could go for that right now. Ice cream it is, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (so i made a playlist that sort of goes with this story: http://8tracks.com/peachsunflowers/breath-that-passed-from-you-to-me)
> 
> also to everyone reading this and leaving kudos  
> ~ thanks ~

The two brothers walked side by side down the path, one much taller and broader-shouldered than the other. They’d been prepared to visit the stables, but the sky had grown cloudy and gray, prompting them to return to the house before they got caught in the rain that was undoubtedly to come.

Willas was relieved to have Garlan at Highgarden, however brief his stay was. For as long as he could remember, there had been a clear difference between himself and his brother, and Loras and Margaery. Though Loras and Garlan shared football, they were very different in personality. While Loras valued ambition and flash and fame and power, with a quick temper and easily hurt feelings, Garlan enjoyed simpler pleasures and was easy-going and avoiding confrontation and conflict.

So it was nice to have the sibling he was closest with back, especially when Margaery and Loras had run off to spend the day together without telling him where they were going.

“Leonette’s been getting ready for it. She took years buying a new dress and shoes and everything.” Garlan said, beat-up sneakers shuffling against the ground. He smiled crookedly. “She’s so nervous about being on TV.”

Garlan was to be given some mid-season football award closely related to an MVP award, and because he was a Tyrell, it was going to be televised directly after his game on Friday.

“Aren’t you nervous? It’s a pretty big deal. Congratulations, by the way.”

“Not really. Thanks. Hey, are you bringing a date?”

“No. Why?”

Garlan shrugged. “Just wondering.”

“I didn’t know it was a date event.”

“It’s not, but - why don’t you bring that woman from Blooming Roses? Kelly?”

“Kelsy?”

“Yeah.”

“Uh, I don’t really like her like that.”

“Why not? She’s attractive. Smart. Blond.”

_I prefer red hair._

“I just don’t.”

* * *

Expensive silverware creaked against fine china plates everywhere around her at dinner. She eyed the plate her foot was served on, noting that it was probably worth a heavy sum.

She’d grown up rich, in a mansion in upstate New York. Woods and nature all around her, hiking and horseback riding and snowball fights in the long winters. Leather riding boots and North-face jackets and Burberry scarves.

And then she’d been a part of the filthy rich elite, everything diamond and gold and silk. She’d look forward to when they all went to dinner, or even when they left the grounds, because as soon as she would step outside, she’d be bombarded with paparazzi and flashing cameras and yelling, all clamoring to get a good look at her. And she’d hide behind her designer sunglasses. But before she’d get into the limo, she’d always give them an over-the-shoulder smile, making them all love her.

But then was Vegas, filled with paper plates and drywall leakage and gambling at dirty casinos for money. Late nights spent at Littlefinger’s strip club, and sneaking into hotel rooms and swimming pool locker rooms to take showers. Short skirts and high-heeled boots and a switchblade tucked into the side of her bra always.

After she’d... gotten out, it had been living paycheck to paycheck. She’d been forced to learn how to deal with her own money, often times money that she’d stolen. And then Margaery appeared out of nowhere, and now she was here.

And here was wonderful.

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.” Margaery had told her. But Sansa was well into her second week here, and she knew the question of how much longer she was intending to stay was coming soon.

And now, with no job, she didn’t know how she expected to actually get an apartment that wasn’t miles and miles from campus (or somehow get money to swing for a car, or even busfare every morning). She felt like a squatter here, no matter how polite and hospitable the Tyrells were to her.

Lost in her thoughts, she almost forgot to eat. But then Margaery nudged her, asking, “Is something wrong?”

“Not at all.”

“Do you not like lobster, or something?”

“Of course I do.” Sansa said, picking up her fork and starting in on her dinner in response. “Sorry, I must have just spaced out for a minute.”

Margaery straightened up in her chair, taking this as an acceptable answer.

The lobster tasted like it had been plucked up from the ocean and prepared seconds ago, fresh and salty. And expensive.

She’d have felt much less uneasy if she’d known the status of her trust fund. She knew her parents had set up hers, as well as one for each of her siblings, when she was born. But then her father died, and then her mother and brother, and the company went under. She didn’t think it was possible for that to alter her private account, but she could have very well be wrong.

She just needed to wait for an opportunity to go up to Winterfell again.

She couldn’t go now, she knew it was risky. She didn’t know how safe it was for her to return.

But mostly she was afraid to see it again. See how it had changed, how it had crumbled. The house could be abandoned or (worse) it could have been sold. And the thought of that was enough to keep her sitting at Highgarden’s dinner table, fretting about apartment costs and scouring the newspaper every morning for job interviews.

* * *

Sitting on the very edge of her bed, her fingernails dug into the mattress, an attempt to relieve the stress building in her chest. She stared at the door she’d hurriedly knocked, trying to stock her leg from shaking in the nervous way it was.

Margaery had mentioned, at the last second, that there was going to be a party at Highgarden tonight, of high-society. A cocktail party, she’d told Sansa excitedly, running off with Loras to meet Olenna and oversee the decoration of the main hallway.

She could see it now. Aren’t you Sansa Stark? Previously accused murderess of Joffrey Baratheon? Wait - you look exactly like the girl on those wanted posters all over Las Vegas...

She couldn’t go. She couldn’t. It was terrifying, the prospect of being recognized. With all those people, all their artificial masks, unknown loyalties.

She could handle it before, when she thought she had nothing to lose. But then she’d lost it all, and now she was a scrappy used-to-be spoiled daddy’s girl who was wanted for first-degree murder of the owner of most of the strip clubs in Nevada. She didn’t think she could play the part as well as she had to.

A knock at her door made her jump.

“Who is it?” Even to her, her voice sounded tight and pained. She cleared her throat.

“Willas. Sorry, I can come back - “

“No, it’s alright.” She stood up off the bed and opened the door a few inches.

“You left this downstairs.” He held out her copy of _Lolita_. “I just thought you might want it.”

“I do. Thank you.” She forced herself to smile back at him. She took the book gladly, turning into the room to place it on the night-table next to the bed.

He took a step in after her. “Are you coming tonight?”

Sansa froze, panicked.

_Lie._

“Um, I’m not feeling very well.”

His face fell into a concerned expression. “Do you need to see a doctor?”

“No!” She said quickly. “No, I’m probably fine, just a little stomach virus.”

“Oh. Really?”

She found herself nervously itching her forearm as she replied. For some reason, she didn’t like lying to Willas. It felt wrong, seeing as how he’d been so honest with her about everything they’d talked about.

But she wasn’t ready to explain why she was hiding behind the locked door.

“Yes. I think I’ll just rest tonight.” She sat on the edge of her bed, trying to look downtrodden.

“Are you sure?” He asked. He could tell she wasn’t being truthful with him. She had been fine almost an hour ago, and still looked as healthy and glowing as she always did. But he couldn’t figure out why she was going to such lengths to avoid attending a party.

“I’d better, I don’t want to get anyone else sick. Please let your family know I’m sorry I couldn’t attend.”

He rocked back on his heels, replying, “Well, truthfully, I’m not going either.”

Her gaze shifted back up to meet his, and she tilted her head in confusion. “Why not?”

He decided to be honest. It was funny, honesty had been close to last on the list of desired Tyrell attributes, but it had always been something that he valued highly. Maybe that was because he found it difficult to lie himself, and could not understand how people (particularly most of the people his family associated with) could do it so lightly.

But he always thought that as long as he was honest, he could expect the same as others. And though he sensed that Sansa had withheld many pieces of her past from him, he hoped that if he kept being honest with her, then there would come a time that she would feel comfortable enough to tell him.

What he couldn’t understand is why he cared so much. She’d barely been at Highgarden two weeks, and he knew it was a little unreasonable for him to expect her to tell him everything. So he tried not to expect it. But he wished for it, because there was some part of him that desperately wanted to know everything about her. And he wanted her to be the one to tell him.

“I hate these things. My grandmother always makes my father invite all these people he hates, and he gets in a terrible mood. And anyway, it’s more Margaery and Loras’ thing, the socializing. I’m not very good at hiding my dislike for certain people, who happen to be in attendance tonight. So, I’m sneaking out.”

The corner of his mouth turned up, and he asked her, “Do you want to come?”

There was a pause, before Sansa nodded slowly, a guilty smile blooming over her face. He laughed, and her laugh followed his.

“Just... give me a minute?”

He nodded, and she darted over to the closet, pulling out a pocketbook and stuffing a wallet and a few other things into it before following him out the door.

They crept along the upstairs hallway as chattering voices filtered up from downstairs.

“Let’s take the backdoor.” Willas whispered to her. They hurried down the stairs, and at the last second, Willas grabbed her hand without thinking.

The gesture finally registered in his conscious mind, and he almost let go, but she squeezed back, her fingers wound tightly over his. As he closed the door silently behind them and they ran across the driveway to where his car was parked, he found himself grinning.

She was laughing when she closed to car door and slumped back in the front seat. She leaned her head back and turned to look at him.

He smiled giddily back at her, pushing his key into the ignition and pulling out of the driveway.

They got on the road and were almost completely out of Highgarden grounds before Sansa asked, “So where are we going?”

He shrugged. “Anywhere you want.”

She thought for a moment, chewing her bottom lip, before replying, “Can... can we get ice cream?”

He nodded. “I could go for that right now. Ice cream it is, then.”

As he drove out of the gates and onto the highway, he contemplated how angry his grandmother would be about his absence tonight. But then he snagged a glance at Sansa sitting beside him, her eyes watching him, and decided that whatever scolding would undoubtedly come was worth it.

* * *

“I’ve got it.” He insisted, handing a few dollars the man behind the counter. “My treat.”

The night felt humid but cold, having just rained, her hair sticking to the skin on the back of her neck. They sat outside, lit by the fluorescent lights outside the ice cream stand. There was a green umbrella above them, made to make shade during sunny days, and the table separating them was splintery wood.

Sansa stuck her plastic spoon into the styrofoam cup of chocolate-chip cookie dough ice cream, fighting the urge to shiver against the temperature.

Without a word, Willas shrugged off the leather jacket he’d been wearing and passed it over the table to her. She took it gratefully with a “thanks”, leaving him sitting across from her wearing a plain white t-shirt and jeans.

“So, you’re not sick.” He said finally. She nodded admittingly. “Why didn’t you go to the party?”

“It’s...” She trailed off, searching for words.

She didn’t know why he was asking her. He was Margaery’s brother - he was there at the trial, and he read the newspaper. He didn’t live under a rock. Why was he making her say it?

She looked at Willas. His eyes blinked at her like they were trying to tell her that it was ok, that she could trust him. And she wanted to.

“There are some people who don’t know I’m... it wasn’t safe for me to be there.”

His eyebrows crinkled. “Safe?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know about me.” She said flatly. “With Joffrey Baratheon’s death. I was a suspect.”

“But Margaery cleared your name. You can’t be held to that anymore.”

She smiled bitterly. “That doesn’t mean that there aren’t some people who believe that I did it.”

He bit his lip roughly, gaze falling down into the cup in front of him.

For a second, she wanted to tell him about the real reason, that Alayne Stone was wanted for the murder of her father Petyr Baelish, that he had allies everywhere. It wasn’t safe for her to be anywhere for too long.

But what would he think of her then? The worst he knew about her was that she was a suspect. She’d stabbed a man. She was on the run. She could never escape her past. So she kept her mouth shut, and took another bite of her ice cream.

She almost jumped when she felt his hand grasp hers across the table. Her heart caught in her throat, and in that moment she couldn’t feel anything else except the touch of his hand against hers. All she saw was him, every line and curve of his face against the dark night. She studied his face for an explanation, but he only looked at her with kindness and care.

“Hey. I’m sorry, you don’t have to talk about it. But you know, we wouldn’t let anything happen to you if you’d gone to the party, alright?”

She could feel her eyes start to sting, because it had been years since someone had been this gentle with her. She couldn’t understand why he was acting this way, why he’d spent so much time with her in the past days, why he seemed to care and listen to the things she said. But he did, and she didn’t deserve it.

“Thank you.” She found herself whispering.

And he drove them home, not letting go of her hand once.  

* * *

She was up relatively early the next morning. The house was quiet, save the sounds of the house staff cleaning up from the party downstairs. Even though they’d gotten back sometime long after eleven, the party was still raging. It was almost comical how crazy it had seemed, weeding through the severely drunk and probably high crowd of older and younger people alike.

At Winterfell, her parents had thrown parties, and it had gotten rowdy, due to the heavy liquor popular in the area, but the Tyrells seemed to have the same taste for parties as the Baratheons - that of hot, sweaty, crazy chaos. Loras had briefly grabbed Willas on their way up the stairs, half-whispered something slurred into his ear, and then was off, and a second later he was pushing an unidentified figure into a coat closet and yelling something incoherent.

But now the house was in the calm after the storm, and Sansa figured that no one would be up until at least two or three in the afternoon.

Automatically, her eyes slid over to where Willas’ jacket was, slung over the chair in front of the mirror.

She thought of how she hadn’t even said a word, and he’d offered it to her because he’d noticed she was cold. No one had shown that much care to her in a very long time.

She almost fell asleep in it, but realized that he’d want it back and didn’t want to ruin it, or anything. At least, that’s what she said to stop herself from cuddling up in it. But now her hands itched to touch it.

_You’re being stupid._ She told herself. _It didn’t mean anything. He’s a gentleman, he would have given it to any girl in that situation. Don’t kid yourself._

But she couldn’t seem to stop herself from getting up, and walking over to where the jacket sat. She stared at it for almost a minute in a sort of blind conflict, before finally giving in and picking it up. She held it in her hands delicately, and brought it up to bury her face in it. She inhaled deeply, letting Willas’ scent fill her up.

It smelled like dogs and soap and something distinctly spicy and male. And then the tiniest bit like the shampoo she used. It made her shiver just the tiniest bit - the scent of those smells jumbled together.

She let it drop from her hands abruptly, almost jumping away from where it landed thickly in a heap on the floor. She knew she probably looked like a mental case, with the way she was acting, but she couldn’t help it. She knew she was developing some sort of something for Willas, because half the time she wanted to shy away from him and half the time she wanted to be on top of him.

She wondered what he was like as a child. In her imagination, he was one of those crazy intelligent boys that got amazing grades without being stuck up about it, and stayed up late with a flashlight reading books far past his bedtime. He would have been the boy that puppies followed home and never pulled a girl’s hair or talked back to the teacher.

He would have never - would never - hurt a thing.

* * *

She leaned over the vanity, mouth half-open, applying copious amounts of mascara.

She always liked makeup. When she was younger, far before her parents would allow her to wear it, she would sneak into her mother’s room while they were out and stare at all the lipsticks and powders and even sneak a peek into some of the various jars and bottles that she kept out on the dresser.

The first time she actually wore makeup was unforgettable. A seventh grade dance, with new high heels she could barely walk in. She wore a green dress that was almost more sparkle than fabric, and her mother had finally given in and put green eyeshadow on her, along with some mascara and lip gloss.

She’d felt like she could have done anything. The colors on her face became armor, and she was strong and radiant.

When she was allowed to wear it regularly, there wasn’t a day that went by without her having to put it on in the morning. It became something that she needed. And her brothers and Arya teased her, and her mother and father told her she looked prettier “natural”. But everyday since then, she wore it anyway. She almost didn’t recognize herself without it.

Margaery stood behind her, adjusting the top of her dress and staring at herself in the corner of the mirror not occupied by Sansa’s reflection. She looks polished and royal, like always, wearing her hair up intricately and a dress made of finer material than Sansa’s worn in a long time. The Tyrells were, as a collective, extremely well-dressed for every occasion. Even Garlan, who Sansa couldn’t help noticing was relatively out of place in the family of political-savvy minds and patrons of the fine arts, was almost never seen uncouth or messy. Then again, she didn’t really have the authority to make that call, seeing as she’d only seen him a total of five times in her life.

Sansa watched Margaery smile her cat-like smile at her own reflection, turning to just the slightest bit to look at herself from the side, inspecting the way the dress’ material gathered at her hip.

A few minutes later, Margaery bid Sansa goodbye and left the room as Mace’s car honked loudly down in the driveway. Margaery was going early to make sure everything was in accordance to the way she’d planned, and privately, Sansa knew she was hoping for an interview.

Later, she jumped into Loras’ land rover, and they drove to the game. She was anxious to see Willas - it had been days since she’d actually had a chance to talk to him for more than a few minutes. He was at work and she was in classes.

They arrived at the field, navigating through the masses of spectators, with the smell of crab-fries and hot dogs and super-sized sodas. Her feet pinched from the shoes Margaery insisted she wore as Loras lead her quickly up the stairs.

Sansa smiled privately to herself. It seemed that everything the Tyrell’s were a part of had to somehow include a rose in one way or another. But she understood. Her own father had sponsored a little-league team years ago, basing their mascot after the animal on the Stark crest. Her brothers and cousins all wore the wolf across their chests on those jerseys for as long as they could, before they started high school and joined the school team.

She climbed up the stairs a few steps behind Loras, dressed dapperly in a charcoal black suit and an olive green tie, his hair combed back and shoes shined. He looked like he’d stepped right out of GQ magazine, airbrushed and flawless. He wore a self-satisfied smirk as a group of women giggled as he passed.

The Tyrell’s private box was one of the largest, and was positioned right over the Gold Roses goal post. It was complete with ample comfortable seating, platters of high-end shrimp, lobster and other seafood, and a fully-stocked bar. It was filled with Tyrells, along with Leonette and Mr. and Mrs. Fossoway, and her younger brother.

Willas nodded as he half-listened to his mother telling Mr. Fossoway about her latest vacation to Venice when the door to the box opened and Loras entered, followed behind by Sansa.

His breath caught as his eyes met hers. Her hair was out and wild, messily flipped over to one side, exposing the left side of her neck. It was delicate and creamy, and Willas swallowed thickly as his eyes traced the curve. The black dress clung to her, and the neckline was cut in a v, dipping low. Her persimmon lips were molded into a shy smile. Her body looked slender and lithe, but soft and womanly and graceful, and her pale legs seemed to stretch on for miles.

His addled head automatically wondered if they were as smooth as they looked, and what they would feel like wrapped around his waist.

He tore his eyes away from her, staring down into the bottom of his drink glass.

He was a creepy old man preying on a young, gorgeous, unsuspecting girl.

The cane made matters all the more worse.

He had to get control of himself.

_Just stop looking at her._

He turned to find Margaery shaking her head at him, a condescending “I-told-you-so” expression on her face. He glared at her, moving towards the bar where Leonette and Mace stood.

Sansa stopped, half-way to Willas when he turned and moved away from her. Slightly rattled at his slight physical rejection of her, she changed direction and met Margaery, who was smugly sipping her brightly-colored drink somewhere toward the corner.

“Hey.” Margaery greeted her.

“Hey.”

Sansa peered down at the field curiously, watching the stadium fill up. The game had yet to start, but the stands were equally represented in Gold Roses green and rival Spears red and orange. Then she glanced back to the bar, where Willas now stood talking with Leonette.

He looked good. In a classic black suit, with a dark blue thin tie, he was crisp and clean, and handsome. There was something about a guy in a suit that always jarred her, in the best way. It appeared that he’d gone a few days without shaving, and the five o’clock shadow he usually wore had grown a little. She liked it, the suggestion of something rugged.

She bit her lip, and turned back to Margaery, who was looking at her with a lofty expression.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Margaery replied, in a high-pitched and all-knowing tone. With a smile, she slipped away from Sansa to go over to Loras, leaving Sansa alone towards the window.

The game started, and everyone sat down in their spots. She waited until Willas sat down first, and then shamelessly sat down in the seat next to him.

He half-turned in his seat, smiling crookedly at her. He looked like he was about to say something, before he stopped and cleared his throat.

“You look pretty.” He said finally.

She kept herself from smiling too largely, staring down at her crossed legs as the players took their places for the first quarter kick-off. “Thank you.”

She watched him out of the corner of her eye throughout the game. He seemed to pay quite close attention to everything that went on, leaned forward in his seat, carefully watching the plays and responding to comments his father made from his other side.

She tried to watch as well, but sports games had never interested her, they’d always been something her parents forced her to attend (because of her brothers) and she’d just taken the opportunity to watch the other cute boys on the team and smile at them between plays. This time, though, she had something much more interesting to watch. She wished she could catalogue all his different facial expressions, the way his eyebrows furrowed, and he tensed up just a little bit during a play and cheered when it came out in favor of the Roses.

* * *

The actual party was held in a large reception room deep in the labyrinthe that was the football stadium. He watched her across the room in contained agony.

He’d felt her glancing at him throughout the game. He didn’t know if it meant anything at all, but it, unfortunately, gave him an inextinguishable jolt of hope that she might feel the same way about him as he felt about her.

_You shouldn’t be feeling_ anything _about her._ He told himself angrily, but it didn’t seem to help or change anything. He’d tried his best to remember the fact that she wasn’t even twenty yet, that he was five full, long years older than her, and should only think of her as Margaery’s friend. That didn’t seem to help or change anything either.

She wasn’t just a pretty girl. The more they talked, the more attached he became. And maybe he was a sap and a blind optimist and a hopeless romantic like his whole family said, but he could see her needing someone. Someone like him.

Because she was broken. He could tell. So completely broken inside, from everything that had happened to her. And he wanted to be the one to try to fix it. And even if he couldn’t fix it, he could be there for her. He wanted to be there.

“Alright.” He muttered to himself under his breath, before he finally gave in and walked across the room to where she stood.

“Hi.” She chirped, her face changing considerably when he approached her.

“Hi.”

He took a sip of his drink, not exactly sure what to say next. Luckily, she continued with, “Good game, huh?”

He nodded. “Definitely. Leonette’s really proud.”

They both looked over to where Garlan sat, barely even settled from the game itself, Leonette leaning on his shoulder. She bent down to give him a kiss on the cheek and continued massaging his shoulders through his obviously hastily put-on suit. Garlan said something, making her throw her head back and laugh.

“She is. She should be, Garlan played spectacularly.” Sansa replied, smiling that shy half-smile that made him wish he had a camera with him so he could capture it and keep it. “Hey, um, so, I never thanked you for yesterday.”

“For what?”

“For letting me tag along.” She said, sounding almost sheepish. Her eyes were trained in a spot over his left shoulder. “And letting me talk your ear off, and feel sorry for myself.”

“I like when you talk my ear off.” He blurted out. There was a pause before she laughed quietly. “I mean, you don’t - when we talk, you’re not ‘talking my ear off’. We’re just talking. And I like talking to you.”

Before he had a chance to lament his awkward choice of words, she grinned.

“I like talking to you to.”

And he felt something inside him stir and he wanted to grab her hand and run out of this stupid party and take her deep into the rose gardens and kiss her until his face turned blue. Because her hair stood out among the greenery in the best way and the mix of her scent along with the roses was heavenly and her lips would be soft and receptive and kissing her would be like a breath of fresh air.

But he didn’t. He barely even knew her, if he was being honest. He’d only just met her three weeks ago. She should be a stranger to him. Why didn’t she feel like a stranger?

Before he could say anything else, Olenna interrupted, taking Sansa by the wrist and saying something about introducing her to someone - he wasn’t paying very much attention to the words she was saying. All he could really focus on was the way that Sansa seemed like she didn’t really want to leave, like she was genuine when she said she liked talking to him, like she wanted to talk with him more.

He watched her, unabashedly, gracefully introducing herself to one of Garlan’s old football friends. He would have felt jealous had she not glanced over at him and smiled apologetically.

He held onto that, internalized it, maybe stretched it out to be more than it actually was. But he couldn’t help it.

She’d surprised him, out of nowhere. All of a sudden, she’d materialized into his old room, all glossy haired and quiet, and he’d accidentally completely fallen for her.

His eyes widened at his own internal confession, but as soon as he thought it he knew it was, depressingly, true.

_Shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, the way i look at it, willas is a total glass half-full guy and often jumps to naive conclusions, even though he's older than sansa. sansa is more of a cynic and sees things for exactly how they are. 
> 
> hope everyone enjoyed! (◡‿◡✿)


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